


not yet, not yet (love run)

by vachement



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Love Languages, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, bed sharing, oblivious ciri, shameless fluff, sharing food, theyve pretty much adopted ciri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vachement/pseuds/vachement
Summary: five times ciri doesn't quite understand what she's seeing, and one time she does
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 97
Kudos: 1101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this story is already completely written and i'll be updating once a day, so stay tuned! 
> 
> i've never written ciri before, so i just channeled my inner thirteen year old girl and went for it. hope that worked out okay
> 
> enjoy :))

Ciri tried not to be a picky eater, she really did. Being raised the Princess of Cintra hadn’t exactly been conduicive to that, but on the road, she knew that she was lucky to get the warm meals she did. And stew in an inn was a treat, on top of that; it was far better than stringy rabbit caught in the middle of the woods.

So, she savored it, even when it had chunks of unidentifiable vegetables floating in it, and was that mold? Wrinkling her nose, she took another bite and tried not to wince, aware of Geralt’s eyes on her. She knew he’d never, but she couldn’t help but to worry that if she appeared ungrateful, he’d decide she was too much trouble and just dump her on the side of the road. 

Jaskier, it seemed, didn’t have that same problem. He was loudly complaining about the quality of the stew, waving his spoon around for emphasis. It was a wonder he hadn’t spilled it everywhere yet.

“It has  _ carrots _ ,” he repeated for the seventh time (she was counting). “What self-respecting cook puts  _ carrots  _ in a stew?”

“Eat your food, Jaskier,” Geralt didn’t even look up from his own rapidly disappearing meal.

Jaskier made an offended noise. “You cannot  _ possibly  _ expect me to eat carrots. There’s literally nothing good about them.”

“They’re good for your eyes,” Ciri volunteered, shoveling a dubiously orange chunk in her mouth. It didn’t  _ not  _ taste like carrot, she supposed. “I think. That’s what my grandmother used to tell me, anyway.”

Talking about her grandmother still sent a pang of pain through her chest, her last image of the formidable woman being her slowly bleeding out. Ciri tried to shake that thought out of her mind and think of her grandmother’s smile, instead. It  _ almost  _ worked.

Jaskier snorted loudly, clearly meant to draw her attention back to him from where she’d gone in her mind. He could be surprisingly perceptive when he wanted to be. “My eyesight is perfect, thank you very much,” he huffed. “I don’t need to eat disgusting vegetables for that.”

“Then why didn’t you see that kikimora before it tried to eat you?” Geralt asked dryly, leveling Jaskier with an unimpressed look.

“That’s irrelevant,” Jaskier said waspishly. “Also, you’re terrible. Is this kind of rudeness what you want the child to learn? She’s at the prime age to be copying the behavior of her role models, and this is what you’re teaching her?”   
  
Ciri giggled and turned to Geralt. “Does this mean I get to be mean to Jaskier, too?”

He gave her one of his secret smiles, more a quirking of lips than anything else, and nodded subtly. “Might do his ego some good,” he whispered to her.

Jaskier-- and there was no other word for it--  _ squawked _ . Like a particularly angry goose. Ciri was pretty sure she snorted stew out her nose from laughing so hard. “Oi!” he scowled at them. “You--” he pointed at Geralt. “--are an absolute menace, and I  _ will  _ get you back for this. And you--” he glared at Ciri, but she could see the amusement dancing in her eyes. “--finish your stew. That’s punishment enough.”

Ciri groaned. “Do I have to?” she whined, well-aware that she sounded like a child, but okay with it if it worked. Jaskier looked like he was wavering (considering he wasn’t eating it, either).

But Geralt held firm. “Yes,” he said with finality. Even her pout didn’t move him. “You need to keep your strength up. Eat.”

The rest of the meal went the same: Jaskier complaining, Ciri laughing at him, and Geralt chiming in with the occasional grunt. It didn’t escape her notice, though, that Jaskier was picking at his stew, eating around the chunks of carrots and wrinkling his nose. She  _ also  _ noticed that when he was distracted on another rant, his eyes twinkling and hands flailing as he yammered on about some rival bard, Geralt swapped their bowls.

It was a quick movement, given Geralt’s Witcher speed, but Ciri saw the result: Geralt spooning carrots out of his bowl, even though he’d finished his stew in record time earlier in the evening. She was pretty sure Jaskier saw, too, as something like satisfaction passed over his face for a half-second. Still, neither of them acknowledged it, and neither of them offered to take her bowl, either.

Scowling to herself, Ciri finished her vegetables. At least Jaskier’s stories made it easier to ignore the taste.

Later, after Jaskier had gotten up and performed (and she had possibly, maybe, stolen several sips of his ale-- which, for the record, tasted  _ horrible _ ), Ciri could feel her eyes starting to droop. She leaned against Geralt, who was still listening to Jaskier talk animatedly, and curled into his warmth.

Surprisingly, he let her. He even ran a calloused hand through her hair a couple of times. It tugged on the knots she hadn’t had time to brush out, but the gesture warmed her to her toes. She must’ve nodded off to the sound of Jaskier’s voice and the feeling of Geralt next to her, because the next time she stirred, it was because she was being lifted gently in someone’s arms.

“Careful,” Jaskier hissed as she was adjusted, ostensibly by Geralt.

Ciri could practically see the eyebrow Geralt must’ve raised at Jaskier. His arms were impossibly careful where they held her, and his steps were slow and barely jostled her at all. She started to drift off again. 

“Did you get enough to eat?” asked Jaskier, his voice a low whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear.

Geralt hummed an affirmative, the rumble comforting where she was lying against his chest, cradled in his arms as he carried her up the stairs. “You don’t need to do that every time,” he said, sounding on the verge of exasperated, but there was something else in his tone that Ciri couldn’t quite decipher. 

“I genuinely hate carrots, so you actually did me a favor,” Ciri could practically hear Jaskier’s shrug, but it wasn’t worth opening her tired eyes to see. “And you eating them is better than them going to waste, no?”

She felt Geralt reply, but she was too tired to focus on it. She was being laid in a bed, she knew, but she was already unconscious by the time her head hit the pillows, dreaming of carrots.

  
(The next inn they stopped in, it was radishes that Jaskier hated with a passion. This time, though, he was the one to initiate the bowl swap, sending Ciri a conspiratorial wink while she distracted the Witcher. Still, no one relieved  _ her  _ of her gross vegetables...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> carrots are the worst and that's the tea
> 
> comments and kudos make my day!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever get tired of bed sharing as a trope? signs point to no
> 
> enjoy!!

Since Ciri had met Geralt, the Witcher had started staying in inns more often. Ciri knew this because of Jaskier’s loud complaints of favoritism ( _ he _ , he’d claimed, had never been treated to soft beds and warm food by virtue of his greatness as a travel companion. Geralt had simply cocked an eyebrow and told Jaskier that Ciri was simply a better companion than he was. Ciri had laughed so hard she’d almost fallen off of Roach, and only Jaskier’s quick hands had caught her before she could tumble fully to the ground). She wasn’t dumb; she knew neither of the men minded sleeping in the woods every night, surrounded by bugs and nature and monsters, and that the inns were for her benefit.

Still, she couldn’t say she minded the special treatment most days. She wouldn’t complain about her bedroll on the forest floor, but she could admit that she much preferred a proper bed, especially after a long day of travel. 

They arrived in a village with an alleged drowner problem just as the sun was setting, having walked all day to get there. Ciri had ridden Roach for part of it, but she was still exhausted. All she wanted to do was fall asleep, preferably in an inn, if they could manage it. She noticed Jaskier counting out coin and prayed that it would be enough.

“Good news!” he announced after a moment. “We should have enough to get a room, if not two.”

Ciri groaned in relief, but it was drowned out by Geralt’s louder hum. “Is that really wise?” he asked gruffly.

“Not all of us are accustomed to sleeping on rocks every day, Geralt,” Jaskier rolled his eyes, shooting Ciri a smile. She knew he meant her, that she was weak and holding them back, and that their lives would’ve been easier if they weren’t dragging around a fugitive princess, and-- “I’m far too old to stay in the forest all the time. You might enjoy the constant threat of monsters and, gods forbid, mosquitoes, but I’m only human! I prefer to rest my head on a real pillow. I’m getting a room with the child; you can stay with your forest creatures if you so prefer.”

Ciri didn’t know what to say. She knew Jaskier was being dramatic about his hatred for the forest, but Geralt seemed to believe him (and not blame her), if his scowl was any indication. She didn’t know how to feel about that, but the knot of anxiety in her chest loosened a little bit.

Geralt huffed. “You’ll get killed if I leave you alone,” he said, which was as much of a concession to Jaskier’s demands as she knew they were going to get. 

“Probably!” Jaskier said brightly, leading them towards the inn. “And that’s why you’d never leave us alone, oh White Wolf of mine. You’re far too noble for that.”

“Fuck off,” said Geralt.

Jaskier just flashed him a sunny smile. “Be a dear and stable Roach, will you? Ciri and I will handle the rooms.”

Geralt grunted, but he led Roach away without complaint. Ciri was constantly in awe of how easily their routines orbited each other. She wasn’t even sure why they bothered speaking it out loud. They both knew their roles when arriving at an inn: Jaskier haggled for the rooms, often using his silver tongue to get a discount, while Geralt stabled Roach and glared at anyone who looked remotely suspicious. She wasn’t sure where she fit in yet, but she hoped they kept her around long enough to find out. 

The warmth of the inn was a welcome relief from the cool evening as she followed Jaskier inside. He made his way to the innkeeper, an amiable grin on his face. His lute was already in his hands; he often sang for their supper. 

“Hello, good sir,” Jaskier greeted. “Have you any rooms for the night?”

The innkeeper sized them up. Ciri did her best to look small, nonthreatening, and nothing like the Lion Cub of Cintra. “I have one with two beds.” he said after a beat. “That alright?”

Ciri watched Jaskier for a reaction, though he gave none that she could see. The two men always gave her her own bed, which meant that he and Geralt would have to share, or one of them would sleep on the floor. But Jaskier always got snippy when Geralt tried to take the floor, and Geralt wouldn’t even hear of letting Jaskier not get the bed after all the fuss he kicked up. She’d never gotten the impression that they minded sharing, though, even if Jaskier did complain that Geralt stole the blankets.

“That’s perfect,” Jaskier nodded and smiled thankfully, handing over his coin and receiving a key in return. “Thanks so much.” He turned to Ciri and offered her his arm playfully. “Shall we?”

Ciri giggled, but put on her most regal airs. “We shall,” she said, taking his arm and walking with him up the stairs. The illusion of formality was ruined by her wide yawn, though. She was more tired than she’d realized after their day of travel.

It took no time at all to get to their room. Jaskier gestured her inside with a flourish more fit for a Ciri of a life ago, not who she was now, but she didn’t mind. Ciri crossed the room to the far bed (she knew from experience that Geralt preferred the one near the door) and set down her bag. Pulling out a nightgown, she ducked behind one of the screens to change.

While she was putting on her sleep clothing, she heard Geralt enter the room. The sound of his boots was distinctive, when he chose to let his steps make noise. He often did, around her, so that she wouldn’t be too nervous; she’d been startling easy since the fall of Cintra. 

“Two beds?” she heard him ask Jaskier. 

“If you say one thing about sleeping on the floor, know that I will  _ also  _ sleep on the floor, and then we’ll both be uncomfortable for no reason,” Jaskier said primly. “Don’t test me, Geralt.”

A creak of the bed was the only response. When Ciri stepped out from behind the screen to crawl into her own bed, Geralt was already curled around Jaskier, one arm over his waist. Jaskier met her eyes and flashed her a soft smile. 

“Put out that candle, will you?” he said. “I would, but, well, I’m a little trapped.”

Geralt made a noise of displeasure. “Stop talking,” he growled. “Sleep.”

Ciri snuffed the flame, casting the room in shadow but for the moonlight coming through the window. “Goodnight, Geralt. Goodnight, Jaskier,” she whispered as she slid under the sheets.

“Goodnight, princess,” came Jaskier’s quiet voice across the room. Geralt grunted in assent. “Sleep well.”

When she woke up in the middle of the night, the two men were fast asleep. Jaskier had turned at some point so that his face was buried in Geralt’s neck while Geralt’s arms still held him close, and the rise and fall of their breaths was almost in perfect unison. They looked peaceful.

Ciri smiled and closed her eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos make me happy :))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!!

Ciri was 90% sure that Geralt hated the lute. He threatened to smash Jaskier’s lute at least once a day when their bard played while they traveled, and she’d seen him covering his ears when other bards played in taverns (he didn’t cover his ears when Jaskier played, but she figured it was only because they both knew that Jaskier was liable to cut his hands off if he did). Ciri had no idea  _ why _ , as the lute was a wonderful instrument and Jaskier played it so beautifully, but he clearly had a problem with the instrument. Maybe it was all music; she didn’t know.

That was why it was so weird when he installed himself in the corner of the tavern, back to the wall, when Jaskier settled in to play for the evening. It was still early, so Jaskier would be at it for at least a few hours. They’d make a good amount of coin off of it, she knew, and Jaskier would tease Geralt about it for a week. 

Ciri sat down next to Geralt as Jaskier tuned his lute quickly. The Witcher was watching Jaskier with his steady, amber gaze, no expression on his face. She was getting better at reading Geralt, she thought, but at times like this, he was still a closed book to her. She thought there might’ve been some fondness in his eyes, but it was possible she was seeing what she wanted to see. 

At least he didn’t cover his ears, but Ciri was sure that they were hidden enough that Jaskier wouldn’t notice if he did. 

Jaskier started to play, then, and Ciri’s attention was drawn off of Geralt and onto the lovely music. He started off with a ballad about the drowners they’d fought a week prior, and she listened raptly to his retelling (she hadn’t been allowed to tag along). 

That song transitioned into another while she and Geralt ate, and then another while she tried (unsuccessfully) to steal stips of ale from Geralt’s cup, and then another while she kicked her feet against the bench she was sitting on, and then another, and then another, and so on.

Ciri was growing a little antsy. They’d been watching Jaskier for an hour, and while the music was good, she didn’t want to sit still any longer. She cast a look at Geralt, trying to figure out if he wanted to move, too. She didn’t want to suggest it and be rude, after all.

Somehow, though, Geralt seemed to be able to read her mind.

“We already have rooms,” he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You can go upstairs, if you wish.”

Ciri flushed guiltily, caught out. “It’s not that it’s bad!” she said quickly. Across the bar, Jaskier launched into another song. “I’m just…”

“I know,” said Geralt, amusement plain on his face. “Go. It’s fine.”

She paused, halfway out of her seat. “Are you coming?” she asked curiously. 

“Hmm,” Geralt’s eyes were back on Jaskier. He’d been watching the bard for most of the hour and not speaking to her (which was part of why she’d gotten so bored). She couldn’t read his face.

“I’ll take that as a no,” she muttered to herself, long since used to Geralt’s concision. “See you in a bit, then.”

Geralt leveled her with a look. “Don’t get in any trouble,” he warned. He almost sounded like an overprotective father; Ciri didn’t know how to feel about that. Still, she nodded obediently and walked upstairs to their rented rooms for the night.

Her bag was already up there, and out of it she pulled a book that Jaskier had bought her two towns ago. She’d already finished it, but she was happy to devour it again and again and again. She lost herself in the pages and lost track of time. Before she knew it, it was dark enough that she was straining to see the words on the page. As she crossed the room to light the candle, she heard familiar footsteps outside the door.

Geralt slipped inside wordlessly, the candlelight catching on his face that would’ve scared her if she didn’t know the Witcher so well. Jaskier wasn’t at his side; she assumed he was still performing, and Geralt had just gotten bored like she did. 

Geralt, once again, seemed to read her mind. “Jaskier is finishing up,” he offered, starting to shuck off his armor in the relative safety of their room with a lockable door. “He’ll be up in a moment.”

True to his words, Jaskier came bursting through the door not a minute later. His lute was still in his hands, and the purse hanging at his hip was heavy with coin. It had been a good night, it appeared. Jaskier greeted her with a kiss on the head as he passed, crossing the room to set his lute down gently next to Geralt’s swords. 

“Did you two hear my performance?” he asked, still flushed with the excitement of a show gone well. It was contagious; Ciri herself couldn’t stop grinning. She nodded to Jaskier, opening her mouth to speak.

Geralt interrupted her with a shake of his head. “Not a note,” he lied. Ciri had no idea why he would, especially since Jaskier clearly didn’t believe him one bit.

“Your hearing is good enough that you would’ve heard it whether you wanted to or not,” Jaskier said with a smirk, patting Geralt on the shoulder. “You can just admit you like to stay and listen to my music, you know. No one will think you less intimidating for it. Well, I will, and maybe Ciri, but we aren’t scared of you anyway. So...” he gestured expectantly.

“I try not to lie,” Geralt drawled.

Jaskier made an affronted noise. “One of these days, I’ll get you to admit it,” he shook his finger at Geralt, who didn’t seem particularly threatened by it. “You’ll see.”

Ciri couldn’t help but to feel like she was intruding on a private moment. There was something on Geralt’s face, a soft sort of indulgence that she rarely saw, and Jaskier was looking at the other man with undisguised affection (not that the bard ever disguised his affection). Clearing her throat quietly, she excused herself to get a glass of water from downstairs. She wasn’t sure either man noticed her leave.

She took her time getting her water, wanting to give Jaskier and Geralt a little space. She didn’t know what was going on between them, but she knew that her arrival had thrown a wrench in their usual dynamic. She was thirteen, not blind; she knew there were parts of their relationship that she wasn’t privy to, curious as she may be. 

And she  _ was  _ curious. She had absolutely no idea what they were to each other, sometimes. They were friends, she thought most days, but then she’d see Geralt looking at Jaskier like her grandmother used to look at her grandfather (and that she could think that without breaking down in tears was an achievement), and then she had no idea what to think. Ultimately, she decided, it didn’t really matter, anyway. They seemed to know, and that was enough.

Ciri paused in front of the door to their room. She could eavesdrop a little; it wasn’t like Geralt didn’t already know she was there. She was sure he heard her heartbeat, or something. She pressed her ear to a crack in the door and listened.

“I do like your music,” admitted Geralt, his voice quiet.

Ciri heard the rustling of papers; Jaskier was probably flipping through his songbook. She held her breath, waiting to hear his response. “I know, dear,” he said simply, and that was that. If they kept talking, it was too quiet for her to hear through the door. She felt a little bad about eavesdropping, but not bad enough to not strain her ears listening for another minute. 

When it was clear she’d hear nothing else, she slumped against the wall and turned the words over in her mind. Maybe her original 90% estimate had been a little too high; she’d have to watch and wait for more evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos make me happy :))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!!

Ciri, much to her chagrin, was never allowed on Geralt’s monster hunts. Apparently, they were “too dangerous for a child” and all that nonsense. But she was hardly a child! She was certainly old enough to watch Geralt fight a wyvern. She’d tried promising to stay ten feet away at all times, or mentioning that her scream could literally flatten cities, or that  _ Jaskier  _ got to come along and he couldn’t even use a  _ sword _ , but Geralt held firm. 

“And Jaskier isn’t coming,” he told her, giving Jaskier one of his  _ looks _ . Ciri couldn’t read it, but Jaskier clearly could, if his pout was any indication.

“Jaskier totally is,” he shot back, then wrinkled his nose. “I mean,  _ I  _ totally am. So, when do we leave?”

“I’m leaving now,” Geralt said with finality. “You’re staying here in the room. This isn’t a debate, bard.”

“No, it’s not, because if it were a debate, I’d be winning,” Jaskier muttered, shooting Geralt a venomous look. “Why do I have to stay behind? Keep in mind that I’ve already disproven most of your usual grievous injury excuses, so you’re going to have to get creative.”

“It only takes one disembowlement,” Geralt grunted, ignoring Jaskier orbiting him like a deranged goose. “But fine. You have to protect the child.”

Jaskier paused. “That’s the worst excuse you’ve ever given me,” he said dryly. “We both know it would be Ciri protecting me. I’m simply too pretty to fight.”

Ciri giggled. “No, you’re not!” she teased, delighting in the amusement on both men’s faces. “You’re just bad at it!”

“Geralt, you cannot leave me here with that menace,” Jaskier shot her a playful glare. “I fear she might just strangle me if you’re not here to protect me. She seems like the type.”

Geralt patted Ciri’s head as he walked by. “Play nice,” he ordered.

“No promises,” she said innocently, leaning a little into his touch. 

“Do you hear that?” Jaskier squawked. “Geralt, she’s going to kill me. You’re going to end up with a dead bard, and it’ll be all your-- and he’s left. Well, that went well.”

Ciri felt a stab of guilt in her chest. “Does he normally let you follow him?” she asked, worried that she was, as usual, the disruption. She didn’t want Jaskier to resent her for it. She knew he probably didn’t want to spend his evening babysitting her, at any rate.

Jaskier seemed to catch on immediately. “Oh, no, never,” he shook his head, giving her a kind smile. “He’s always like this. He leaves me behind like a delicate little flower as he goes off to fight the big bad monster and I just--” he broke off guiltily. “I, er, stay behind like I’m told. You’re not at fault for this, don’t worry.”

“You follow him, don’t you?” she raised an eyebrow. She’d copied the expression from Geralt, and she was pretty sure she was pulling it off fairly well. 

Jaskier shrugged. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “When I know my presence will be more of a help than a harm. Or when that stingy Witcher insists on keeping all the details to himself, I’ll tag along out of spite. Almost got eaten by a wyvern for doing that, one time. That taught him to share more.”

Privately, Ciri wondered how Jaskier had survived as long as he had, especially following a Witcher. She figured Destiny just had plans for him that didn’t involve him dying at the claws of an angry wyvern. It was a reassuring thought. 

Out loud, she said, “Are you following him this time?”

He looked pained. “No?”

Taking a page out of Geralt’s book, Ciri hummed and let it slide. She climbed into her bed, yawning widely (and fakely). The sooner Jaskier thought she was asleep, she figured, the sooner he’d leave and follow Geralt. He told better stories about the hunts, anyway, and if she couldn’t go herself, she at least wanted to hear the tale with a couple of adjectives.

“I’m going to sleep,” she added for good measure, putting on a convincing show of being tired. It wasn’t hard; she  _ was  _ tired, but it was the principle of the thing. 

“Sleep well, princess,” said Jaskier, but he sounded distracted. A quick peek out one eye showed him checking for the dagger in his boot and the emergency healing potion (Geralt’s; she recognized it) he always kept in his pocket. It was his usual ritual before he knowingly did anything vaguely dangerous. 

It only took another ten minutes before he was stepping almost silently across the room. She didn’t know he could be that stealthy. Still, he wasn’t stealthy enough. She fixed him with a green stare as she lifted her head from her pillow.

“Where are you going?” she asked, knowing exactly where he was going.

“Okay,” Jaskier pursed his lips. “You are  _ not  _ allowed to take this as an example of good behavior, agreed? Because if you ever do this, I swear to the gods, I will… I will…”

Ciri took mercy on him. “Punish me in some horrible way so I don’t do it again?” she offered.

“Yes, that, thank you,” he leveled her with an imitation of the look Geralt had given him. It was about as ineffective, if she was being honest. To his credit, though, he didn’t try to lie to her. “I’m following Geralt. If I don’t come back, it’s because he’s killed me for doing just that.”

“Why?” she said curiously. “Aren’t you scared?”

Jaskier paused for a moment. “Of course I’m scared,” he said finally, sounding like he was carefully considering his words. “But everyone’s a little scared a lot of the time; I don’t let it bother me too much. I follow him because he’ll never admit it, but he needs help, sometimes. And while I’m not exactly useful in the monster killing bit of it all, I can make sure he gets back safely, and isn’t unconscious face down in a swamp somewhere. And the potions he takes, well… sometimes he needs someone to remind him however some think they make him look, he’s not a monster. Of course, he’ll deny every bit of that until his dying day, but I know the truth.”

Ciri felt remarkably grown up, being trusted with Jaskier’s feelings like that. He wasn’t speaking to her like she was a child; rather, like she was his equal. She found she rather liked it. “You’re worried about him,” she summed up.

Jaskier smiled sadly. “Always.”

“Then you’d better go,” she said simply.

His smile turned a little happier. “I guess I’d better,” he walked over to the door. “Don’t cause any trouble, you hear?”

Ciri swallowed nervously. “And, um, you  _ will  _ be back, right?” she asked, hating herself for asking. She felt like a child again, that brief moment of maturity gone. 

Jaskier visibly softened as he walked back over to her. “Of course I will, princess,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “In fact, if you prefer I don’t go at all, I’ll gladly stay with you.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head. “Just promise me you’ll be back?”

“Of course I’ll be back,” he promised, giving her a reassuring look. “Until I get back, you have to guard my lute, you hear?”

Ciri let him tuck her back in. “Stay safe,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Jaskier nodded, patted her head, and was out the door a moment later. Ciri tried not to worry; Geralt hunted monsters all the time, and Jaskier was fiercer than he looked. Still, the sleep that came to her while she waited for their return was restless. She woke up every so often, eyes falling on the still-closed door, and fell back asleep waiting for it to open.

It was almost dawn when she heard it creak. Jaskier’s voice was a welcome relief cutting through her sleep-addled brain. 

“Aren’t you glad I followed now?” Jaskier asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Ciri didn’t open her eyes to watch them stumble into the room, but she heard it well. Well, she heard Jaskier’s stumbling; Geralt’s footsteps were as silent as ever.

“No,” Geralt muttered stubbornly. “I told you to stay with Ciri.”

“And if I had, you would’ve been dead in a field,” Jaskier hissed. Ciri couldn’t help her gasp at that, eyes flying open. Jaskier met her gaze somewhat guiltily. “Ah. You’re awake.”

“Are you okay?” she asked Geralt, flinging herself out of bed and over to where Jaskier was making the Witcher comfortable in the chair. 

Geralt nodded, accepting her examination easily. “Not a scratch,” he said. “The bard is just dramatic.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him, given the genuine anguish she’d heard in Jaskier’s voice, and the fact that the bard was down both a dagger and a healing potion, but she let it go. Feeling intensely young, she crawled into his lap. Half of her expected him to push her off, but Geralt just wrapped his strong arms around her. She ignored the smell of blood.

“I told you we’d be just fine,” Jaskier said, ruffling her hair. He had a bruise forming on his cheekbone, but his smile was as reassuring as ever. “And wait until I tell you the story! It was--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled. Ciri smiled into his shoulder, where her face was buried. “Shut up.”

Jaskier’s hand returned to her hair, the gentle stroking motion soothing. “Shutting up, shutting up.”

Ciri fell back asleep to his prattling rhymes about wyverns and Geralt’s amused hums. It wasn’t a bad thing to fall asleep to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos make me happy :))


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this entirely self-indulgent and based on my love of flower crowns? yes
> 
> enjoy!!

There were some days, Ciri knew, that were objectively perfect. The weather was warm, her belly was full, and there was nothing or no one trying to kill them at the moment. Jaskier was laying in the grass with her, absently pulling dandelions, while Geralt sat on a log a few feet away and sharpened his swords. She could feel him watching them, though.

It had been Jaskier’s idea to take a rest day, and she was very grateful for it. It was a testament to his persuasive abilities that he was able to convince Geralt to take a break, as she’d heard them bickering about it well into the night previous. But when she’d woken in the morning, the sun warm on her face and the forest quiet but for the birds, Geralt had gruffly told her that they’d be staying for another day to recover their strength. Jaskier had been preening smugly behind him.

If she closed her eyes, Ciri could almost imagine that she was back in the gardens of the palace. She missed her home with an all-encompassing ache, some days, but she wouldn’t let today be one of them. No, today was going to be a good day, not a melancholic one. 

Ciri rolled over to face Jaskier. “What are you doing?” she asked, looking at the pile of long-stemmed dandelions he was accumulating. 

“Making a flower wreath,” he explained with a hum. “My mother taught me how, long, long ago, and I wanted to see if I still knew how. Care to try?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she warned, cautiously picking up a flower. 

“I’d be happy to teach you,” Jaskier flashed her a smile and raised his head. “Geralt! Come learn how to make a flower wreath. It’ll be fun bonding time.”

Geralt’s response was immediate. “No, Jaskier.”

Jaskier pouted. “Spoilsport,” he muttered, but he was still smiling. “But we can have fun without him, can’t we?”

“Show me what to do,” Ciri said with a laugh. 

“Okay, princess,” Jaskier said indulgently. “Here, take your first dandelion and hold it sideways, just like that. Now, take a second, and wrap it around the first. Pull the stem out to the side, good, and hold it there.”

Ciri frowned. “Like this?” she said.

“Exactly like that,” he praised, twisting his own flowers nearly mindlessly. “Now, do it again with another flower.”

Pursing her lips in concentration, Ciri knotted another dandelion onto her chain. “It doesn’t look like yours,” she said sadly. “And-- oh, no! I ripped it.”

Jaskier ruffled her hair gently. “That’s fine, princess,” he said. “I’ve been making these for thirty some years; I have a lot more practice. And, would you look at that, I ripped mine, too! I guess we both have to start over now. Come on, pick up another flower, don’t give up.”

“What do you do with them when you’re done?” she asked, starting over just as he had told her to. She was going to make a flower wreath, goddamn it. She forced herself to be gentler with her knots, to go a little slower, and she didn’t rip the stems this time. 

He shrugged. “I usually give mine away,” he said, pulling another flower from his pile. “Half the fun, to me, is giving them to someone I love.”

“I’m going to give mine to Roach,” she decided with a grin. “As a thank you for letting me ride her all the time, and not biting me like she bites you.”

Jaskier barked out a laugh. “That’s a great idea, Ciri,” he said, bumping her shoulder with her own. “I’ll give mine to Geralt, so he can match her. What do you think of that?”

This time, it was Ciri dissolving into giggles. She couldn’t imagine the crotchety Witcher in a crown of bright yellow dandelions, but if anyone could convince him to wear one, it would be Jaskier.

“I think he’ll feed you to the next drowner if you try,” she said after she caught her breath. She held up her chain of flowers. “Is this long enough?”

Jaskier examined it for a moment. “I think so,” he said. “Here, tie off the end like this.” He demonstrated on his own. His chain of dandelions was far better than her own patchy, lopsided one, but she was proud of hers just the same. By the look on Jaskier’s face, he was proud of her, too. The knowledge made her feel warm inside. 

Ciri stood up, wreath dangling in her hand. She skipped past Geralt and over to Roach, greeting the horse with a pat to her flank.

“Hey, Roachie,” she cooed, holding out the flower crown. “I brought you a present.”

Roach sniffed it for a moment, and Ciri was a little worried she’d take a bite out of it. But the horse lowered her head obediently. Ciri went up on her toes, delicately setting the crown in place and kissing Roach’s forehead. 

“Who’s a pretty girl?” she praised as Roach knickered happily. Ciri dug in the saddlebags for one of the sugar cubes Jaskier always kept around and offered one to the horse.

“Stop spoiling my horse,” Geralt called, but she could tell he really didn’t mind. 

“Oh, Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice filled the field, and Ciri had to stifle a mischievous grin.

She could hear the exact moment when Jaskier tried to put the flower crown on Geralt. There was the soft  _ clang!  _ of Geralt setting his swords down as Jaskier’s clomping footsteps approached him. She expected Jaskier to get the first word in, but surprisingly enough, it was Geralt.

“Jaskier, no,” he said immediately. She didn’t have to look to know the face he was giving Jaskier.

“Please, Geralt?” Jaskier was most definitely pouting; that was his pouting voice.

“ _ Jaskier _ .”   
  
“ _ Geralt _ .”

There was a long pause, then Jaskier was saying something too low for her ears to hear. Geralt’s derisive snort, though, was easily loud enough.

Ciri muffled a laugh by burying her face in Roach’s neck. She didn’t want to interrupt Jaskier’s attempt with her giggling. She had faith in his ability to wear the witcher down, but she figured it would take a while. All afternoon, at least; Geralt was stubborn like that, sometimes. 

But when she turned around, Jaskier was sitting smugly against the log next to Geralt, and Geralt had a crown of dandelions on his head. He didn’t seem to enjoy matching Roach, but he made no move to get rid of it.

Much to Ciri’s surprise, it stayed there all night, and Geralt didn’t even complain about it once. Jaskier winked at her when he saw her staring in shock, but refused to explain how he’d gotten Geralt to wear it. Ciri would just have to live with not knowing.

(A week later, when Geralt was trying to explain something about monsters to her, Ciri noticed a dried dandelion carefully pressed between two pages of his notebook. It rested next to some other, older yellow flowers. She thought they might have been buttercups, but he noticed her looking and closed the book too quickly for her to be sure.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos make me smile :))


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are! the last chapter! i hope you guys liked reading it as much as i liked writing it :))
> 
> enjoy!!

The worst days, Ciri decided, were when Jaskier had to leave. He didn’t do it often, and it was usually only a few days to a week, but she’d grown attached to the bard (and the Witcher, but he kept her practically glued to his side during their travels) and hated to see him go. But Jaskier had commitments that took him off of Geralt’s-- and her-- Path occasionally: bardic competitions, speaking engagements, even playing for a court or two sometimes. According to Geralt, it was completely normal for Jaskier and him to separate; they used to spend whole seasons apart, but they always found each other again (she couldn’t help but to wonder if maybe Destiny had a hand in that). Jaskier was a wanderer, she knew, and while he always came back, sometimes he had to wander away first.

Still, Ciri hated it every time.

“Do you have to go?” she asked, well aware she sounded like a whiny child. 

Jaskier ruffled her hair. “Unfortunately, princess, I do,” he said sadly. “If I don’t, people will start to wonder where I’ve gone, and they may start poking around for me. Also, I need to defeat Valdo Marx so thoroughly that he is too ashamed to ever perform again, lest he be reminded of his devastating defeat at my hands. I haven’t managed to beat him _that_ badly yet, but this year will be my year!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Cocky,” he remarked.

“Geralt, darling, you heard him perform last year,” Jaskier looked unimpressed. “I’m cocky for good reason and you know it.”

That gave Ciri an idea. “Can we come with you?” she said eagerly. She hadn’t seen Jaskier perform formally since her last name day celebration, back when Cintra was still standing. It had been far too long, in her opinion. 

Jaskier and Geralt exchanged an indecipherable look over her head. She hated it when they did that. It was like they had their own language that she couldn’t and would never understand. It reminded her, in some ways, of her grandmother and grandfather, and the way they used to communicate entire conversations with just their eyes.

“I’m afraid not, Ciri,” Jaskier said after a beat. He did sound genuinely regretful. “It’s too much of a risk. Someone could recognize you and you could get hurt. Stay with Geralt, it’s much safer that way.”

Ciri tried not to pout. She’d known that, realistically, it wouldn’t be a good idea for the lost princess of Cintra to go anywhere near large cities and gatherings, but she’d still _hoped_. “Okay,” she said, kicking at the ground with her foot to hide her disappointment. “I’ll let you two say goodbye.”

She walked over to Roach and watched Jaskier embrace Geralt. She wasn’t quite out of earshot, though, and she could hear the quiet conversation of the two men. 

“Stay safe,” Geralt whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

Jaskier smiled, softer than she’d ever seen before. “It’s only a few weeks,” he replied. His hand was clasped around the back of Geralt’s neck, keeping him close.

Geralt snorted. “As if you can’t find trouble within the hour.”

“I won’t go looking for it,” promised Jaskier. “And should it find me, I will politely tell it to fuck off and run in the other direction.”

“No, you won’t,” Geralt sighed. “Try not to get stabbed this time, please.”

Jaskier laughed, an indulgent noise. “I should be saying that to you!” he said. “You’re going to go off and fight big scary monsters with big scary claws! No one I’m going up against has claws, Geralt. Well, maybe Marx does. I wouldn’t be surprised. He seems like the type.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed. Ciri couldn’t decipher it, but it seems Jaskier could.

“I’ll stay safe so long as you do,” he swore, a serious note in his usually playful voice. “Protect Ciri and protect yourself. I’ll be back with you before you even know I’m gone.”

“No, you won’t,” Geralt said with a shake of his head. “I always know when you’re gone.”

Ciri felt like she was intruding on an intensely personal moment. She turned her back to them and started humming to herself so that she couldn’t hear their low voices. This wasn’t a conversation for her; privacy, at least, she could give them in return for all they gave her.

It was another several minutes before footsteps came towards her. Ciri turned around just in time for Jaskier to sweep her into a hug, holding her tight and lifting her so that her feet left the ground. She couldn’t help but to smile. 

“I shall miss you the most, princess,” he declared, giving her a wink as he set her down. “Keep Geralt out of trouble, will you?”

Ciri went on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Bye, Jaskier,” she said. “You’d better win this contest.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he assured her, and then he was off, blowing a kiss over his shoulder for her and Geralt. Jaskier was never one for long, drawn out goodbyes; he said that, since he was planning to return, it was more of a _see you later_ , anyway.

Ciri expected Geralt to want to leave immediately, but he stood still, watching until Jaskier disappeared from sight around a bend in the road. Then he stood still some more, his Witcher senses probably picking up on some last traces of the bard that she couldn’t.

She didn’t rush him. Finally, he turned to her with an indecipherable grunt and gestured in the opposite direction that Jaskier had gone. 

“Let’s go,” he said, but there was a strange hesitance in his voice, and his eyes flicked back to the place where Jaskier had vanished. 

It was odd, to say the least. Geralt wasn’t much for sentiment, and it wasn’t like he was accustomed to being alone (and he wasn’t alone! He had her!). Ciri couldn’t figure out what put that look on his face, unless…

“You love him,” she gasped, all of the pieces finally falling into place. Everything she’d seen made sense, now. She watched Geralt carefully for his reaction.

He nodded simply. Her jaw dropped; she’d really only been 70% sure of her guess. “I do,” he said. 

“Does he love you?” she asked immediately. She thought about it for a moment, about carrots and monsters and crowns of dandelions, and she realized that she’d known the answer all along. “Wait, that was a stupid question.”

“He does,” he replied anyway with a quirk of his lips. “Now, enough about that. We need to make it to the next town by nightfall.”

“You could ride and talk at the same time if you wanted to,” she grumbled, but she fell silently in step with Roach.

In the privacy of her own head, Ciri couldn’t believe that she hadn’t seen it before. It seemed so _obvious_ now. Geralt had a special look just for Jaskier, one she’d never seen him give anyone else. Jaskier’s love was a little harder to identify, seeing as he fell in love with everything a little bit, but there was a quirky little smile that he only flashed at Geralt, now that she thought about it. How could she have ever thought there was anything less between them?

Questions were bubbling up in her mind.

“How long have you two been, you know, together?” she pressed, unable to put a lid on her curiosity.

“A while,” he grunted, not turning to look at her. “Long enough.”

She trotted forward to keep up with Roach. “When did you realize you loved him? Oh, when did you tell him? When did _he_ tell _you_? Was it romantic? I know he’d tell the story better, but I want to-- _hey_! Slow down!”

Geralt spurred Roach on in what Ciri could only assume was a desperate attempt to avoid her questioning. It didn’t matter, she thought. She’d have a long time to get the answers.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we have it, folks! let me know what you thought!
> 
> comments and kudos make me happy :))


End file.
